


No, I don't like Brahms

by kiseraeota



Series: string players and their heartstrings [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Classical Musicians AU, M/M, Reconciliation, Sexual Jokes, Swearing, i did this instead of studying for my history of music prelims and i have no regrets, junhao friendship, minwon exes, more iced coffee, not as dramatic as the other two additions lol, orchestra AU, side gyuhao - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiseraeota/pseuds/kiseraeota
Summary: The doors swing open as violently as Wonwoo’s head, making light temporarily blind Mingyu for a few moments. He vaguely sees Wen Junhui entering from backstage, iced coffee in hand instead of his cello.“Wow.” He whistles. “That’s my baby.”--the short before and after of the string player au for self-indulgent junhao bffs, minwon exes, and gyuhao <3
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Series: string players and their heartstrings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944130
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	No, I don't like Brahms

If there’s anything Wen Junhui had ever regret, it isn’t anything near the performances he had presented, nor was it vaguely close to the friends he had made. No, what he regrets the most is going along with Xu Minghao’s impulsive whims to apply for an international contest of sorts, only to be greeted every morning with a sharp, “you’re dumb.”

It never gets old really.

Sometimes it comes when Junhui begins to pout as Tchaikovsky plays, other times it arrives when Junhui changes the radio channel whenever Barber’s violin concerto even threatens to play.

But it’s _always_ when Junhui waits for someone to play the next phrase of their double concerto, only to be met with empty air and judging eyes.

Needless to say, he does _not_ like Brahms.

“You know,” Minghao asks, wiping his violin after their sound check in the hall, “if you’re going to be so hung up on your concertmaster, then why don’t you just get back together?”

They stand next to each other, but Junhui does not look away from the task at hand—locking his carbon fibre cello case. “It’s tiring.” He says. “Not Wonwoo, but the thought of having to distinguish between friend and foe.”

Minghao almost coughs, smiling. “You call your concertmaster your _foe_?”

“What else can I call the most prideful and boastful violinist that ever lived on earth?” Junhui scoffed, earning him a disbelieving look from the younger.

“You two used to date.” Minghao flatly says, unimpressed.

“And?”

“You shouldn’t badmouth him like this.”

“I’m not—I’m just pointing out facts.”

Minghao sighs, blinking. “When you put it that way,” he shakes his head, “there’s no one that can say you’re badmouthing any violinist on earth.”

Junhui chuckes. “You’re going to get so much hate for saying that.”

“If they get affected then that’s on them.” Minghao shrugs, slinging his hard case over his shoulder. “Let’s go back. I’m hungry.”

Junhui smiles, glad there’s one person who isn’t giving up on him.

Junhui recalls making a promise of walking around the streets of Vienna with a violinist. He recalls smiling and giggling at the face of the sea’s crashing waves, holding calloused hands together as the wind blew.

Although stuck in the hotel room, Junhui’s mind wanders about basking under the warmth of the sun, their carbon fibre cases at their backs as companions, just as each other should have been. But he isn’t doing any of that now—no, he’s stuck under the covers at ten in the evening, creating polyphonies over the familiar b flat tune of the airconditioner.

“You’re thinking about Wonwoo again.” Minghao throws him a box of strawberry milk.

Junhui catches it, sitting up on the hotel bed. “No I wasn’t.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, sipping his own milk. “There’s no point hiding it.”

“I really wasn’t thinking of him.” Junhui shakes his head, vaguely remembering Yoon Jeonghan from the strawberry flavoured milk.

Minghao hums, probably deciding to just drop the subject. “Are you ready for the competition?” He asks.

And frankly, Junhui isn’t in the best state of mind to think about that in itself. He knows the Elgar Cello Concerto by heart, and he’s more than prepared to make his instrument sing out these notes as he faces the world.

But he knows there’s still something he lacks.

“Your face tells me you aren’t.” Minghao sighs. “My new friend, Renjun, he told me we should go visit the violin maker here. Maybe he can tell you what you lack in your playing.”

Junhui nods, half-hearted. “Yeah I guess.”

“It pains me to see you this way.” Minghao stands up, towel in tow. “Maybe it’s about time you moved on from Jeon Wonwoo. You broke up with him, after all.”

Junhui forces a smile.

The scent of wood glue and varnish attacks Junhui’s senses the moment they enter the shop. As horrid as these scents are, his eyes widen in awe as he takes in rows after rows of violins, violas, and all these different cellos.

His black carbon fibre case feels light against his back.

The owner greets them widely, offering to see their instruments. After all, he _is_ the expert. Minghao obliges, letting the man inspect his violin for repairs and tune ups, and they enter the back of the shop just the two of them.

But Junhui’s eyes aren’t on them.

No, they’re stuck glued to a dark cello that smells so much like the violin he used to know.

“What about him?” The owner asks Minghao.

Minghao responds with a shrug. “I brought him to take him away from his own thoughts.”

The shop owner laughs. “What’s his name?”

“Junhui.”

With this, Junhui turns his head to their direction, and the shop owner catches this.

“If you want to try out that cello, then go ahead.” The owner bellows in gleeful laughter. “I know you’ll take care of it.”

Junhui nods, taking the instrument to the nearest stool.

He tunes the A string— _a Larsen, of course_.

And he tunes the C string— _I’ve never thought that a Bel Canto Gold would sound this good with Larsen_.

And he plays.

He plays a sorrowful passage from the second movement of Schumann’s cello concerto, breathing in and imagining a Clara of his own.

But his Clara—the love of his life—was pushed away before his trip to Vienna.

And he pushed her away.

He pushed Jeon Wonwoo away.

“That was as sorrowful and loving as Schumann’s intention.” The shop owner commends hi, clapping softly. “I’d take it your hands have grown a liking to the instrument.”

Junhui hesitates. “I can’t afford this, really.” He admits. “Although, would my Stradivarius copy make up for like, I don’t know, maybe one fourth of it?” He tries.

The shop owner shrugs, asking to see Junhui’s cello. And after closer examination, the shop owner smiles. “Limited edition, I see.” He says. “Hand crafted too. This isn’t as much of a copy, but more of a model.”

Junhui nods. “It was made for my family specifically.”

The shop owner looks up at him. “One half of the price.” He says gleefully. “That’s as high as I can go.”

Minghao stares in awe. He had always known that Junhui carries a certain charm that improves the instruments even more; however, knowing that Junhui would finally be able to play a top-notch instrument excites him.

With a decision in mind to begin anew with a new instrument, Junhui smiles.

* * *

Jeon Wonwoo admits that he has problems with his temper—especially when it comes to a certain pianist. That’s why when the said pianist messes up their Sonata for the fifth time in the past hour, Wonwoo doesn’t bother covering up how pissed he has become and bellows out a “Kim Mingyu, you suck!”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you were _clearer_ with how you breathed, then we’d come to an agreement.”

Wonwoo puts his violin down. “Oh?” He seethes. “There’s something wrong with how I _breathe_ now?!”

“Yes.” Mingyu retains a straight face.

“Oh, fuck you, Kim Mingyu.” Wonwoo storms down the stage of the little auditorium, muttering curses and unending complaints under his breath as Mingyu watches. Mingyu can feel the weary eyes of their peers and classmates on him, probably sorry that Mingyu ends up being the sacrificial lamb of the piano department.

Not that Wonwoo would end up as mad as he was if it isn’t Kim Mingyu he’s playing with.

The doors swing open as violently as Wonwoo’s head, making light temporarily blind Mingyu for a few moments. He vaguely sees Wen Junhui entering from backstage, iced coffee in hand instead of his cello.

“Wow.” He whistles. “That’s my baby.”

Junhui rests his forearm on Mingyu’s back, smiling in amusement at the little ex-lover’s spat. Mingyu doesn’t have the heart to shake off the cellist. “Only _you_ would find Wonwoo cute.”

“You say that like you didn’t once fuck him.” Junhui scoffs teasingly, earning him a huff from the pianist. “What happened this time?”

Mingyu scoots to one side, letting Junhui a spot on the piano chair. “You didn’t see?” He sighs, propping his chin up Junhui’s shoulder.

“I was out.” Junhui smiles as he catches a glimpse of Wonwoo peering from the tech booth, pouting at the sight he sees onstage. “All I heard was that he breathes wrong.”

Mingyu pouts even more. “It’s hard to follow his lead.”

Junhui raises an eyebrow as he watches the light of the overhead microphone turn on. “No it isn’t. You two just have to stop being so stubborn and accept that you’re doing this for your grade.”

“Must be nice having you as emotional support.” Mingyu sighs, stretching. “Wonwoo’s so lucky to have you.”

Junhui smiles as he sips his iced coffee. “If anything, I’m lucky to have him push me to be a better musician.”

“So you’re telling me I’m left behind to the dust while he’s already head and shoulders above the rest?” Mingyu stretches his fingers, watching Wonwoo make his way back to the stage, tuning his violin as he walks.

Junhui stands, making his way towards the side stairs of the stage. “I’m saying he isn’t the same as the Wonwoo you dated and that you should let him push you up.”

“Junhui.” Wonwoo says, a few feet away from them. Junhui walks towards him, pushes the straw of his iced coffee to Wonwoo’s lips who obliges and drinks. “I could hear it all, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Junhi grins, crossing his legs as he sits down on the first row of the seats. “Do well, baby.”

Wonwoo throws a tissue from his pocket, pouting his lips much like Kim Mingyu. “Shut up, Wen Junhui!”

Although a handful of people are waiting for their turn at the auditorium, no one actually has the heart to tell Jeon Wonwoo to go offstage. Not while Wen Junhui, the kindest senior they’ve ever met, is watching with stars in his eyes; not when the fear of being yelled at like Kim Mingyu is presently hovering over them.

Instead, they watch as Jeon Wonwoo serenades Wen Junhui, with Kim Mingyu as their wingman.

It takes two more runs until Junhui calls their next classmate to begin their run at the auditorium.

“Why’s _he_ coming along?” Wonwoo adjusts the case on his back, pointing his thumb towards the pianist.

Junhui holds Wonwoo’s hand and pulls it down, encasing it in his own. “How come you’ve lost all the emotions you’ve gained from the Tchaikvsky competition?”

With the recollection of the past event, Wonwoo shudders. “Again, please don’t remind me how you two managed to make every piece you play a homoerotic musical rendition of your fantasies.” He rolls his eyes.

Junhui chuckles, linking Mingyu’s arm with his (although Mingyu’s more aware of Wonwoo’s cold stare than anything). “It managed to put me at second place, right? I just didn’t win because we were against you, Jeon.”

“You still call him Jeon?” Mingyu raises an eyebrow,

“What’s it to you?” Comes the expected reply.

Junhui pulls on his companions. “Anyway.” He breathes. “Mingyu’s sleeping over tonight and he’s lying next to you.”

“Awful idea.” Minghao approaches them, swinging his car keys in his hand. “Where are you taking Mingyu?”

If Mingyu’s eyes could speak, they’d be chanting out a billion pleads. However, Junhui shrugs it off, smiling at his old friend. “On a friendly recollection.” He beams.

“By making him sleep in the same bed as _me_?!” Wonwoo coughs. “Junnie, I didn’t want to say this, but you’re kind of dumb.”

“Hey! I slept in the same bed as Minghao in Vienna.” Junhui huffs. “It’s for _musical growth_.”

“Wen Junhui,” Wonwoo closes his eyes, “please, shut up.”

The moment after the dreaded performance, Wonwoo drags Junhui out to the hallway for a hug. Perhaps, Junhui had already seen that coming—he had to stop Wonwoo from engaging physical contact with him, after all.

“I can’t believe you did this to me.” Wonwoo begrudgingly whispers, face against Junhui’s shoulder. “First you make me sleep next to Mingyu, which didn’t at all work, and after that you forced us to make up and be friends again, and then, because you _still_ weren’t satisfied, you had me stop physical affection for you.”

Junhui rubs Wonwoo’s back. “Hey, you gave light to the _yearning_.” Admittedly, he recognizes that he did too much.

“I hate you.”

Junhui runs his hand through Wonwoo’s hair. “And I love you, Jeon.”

“Ever so cheesy, Wen Junhui.” Wonwoo laughs.

“You love me anyway.”

“Shut up sometimes, yeah?”

Junhui presses his lips against the top of Wonwoo’s head. “Not while I still love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> again, unedited and i did not look back once. Talk to me on twitter! @akuwon @jjeonwon @miyukjs


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